Glimpses
by pterryfan
Summary: Two glimpses into their lives, one of them an alternate plot--and a death.


These two were answers to different prompts on the USA forum. I must explain about the second sample. For a long time, there was a small Santa mug that some folks spotted and commented on and further noticed that it changed from his to her desk. Finally, one of the producers explained that it was, within the CI-verse, it was a gift of her father's that changed hands depending on who won a bet. Inevitably, it broke. I just wrote that into the story.

I dreamed these characters, then Dick Wolf stole them from my dreams. I don't own them legally. Spiritually they are MINE MINE MINE!

**Title**: Empty Apartment

**Author**: Pterryfan

**Episode**: _Purgatory_

**Prompt**: "Sometimes, I f----ng hate this job."

Grimly Captain Ross walked toward the body again. It would be better, he told himself, after they pulled the sheet over the still form. Then he wouldn't have to see the despair, the fatigue, the hopelessness in the victim's face. He had almost forgotten the feel of being in the same room as a body. Lately he'd been going on pictures alone, and while they were factually accurate. . .

Rodgers stood up and looked at him. "Pretty straightforward Danny. Put the gun under his chin and fired. Tell her I'm-I'm so sorry."

He nodded absently. Walking into the next room, he saw Wheeler softly crying, burying her head in her partner's shoulder. Logan looked numb; they were the only cops to show up out of respect.

Running his hand through his hair, he took a glance around the apartment. There wasn't much. Photographs, some coat hangers, a jacket. Some books. An empty apartment. Now it felt emptier than ever.

A uniform sidled up to him. "Sir, we found this note--"

He took it and read. _Did this all badly. I know that now. Don't want to live like this, without her. Better this way. She's free from me. Maybe someday I'll get to see her and apologize like I should have done. Anyway that's it. Bye_.

Ross stared, short of breath. This was it? Such a man of action and words reduced to these few lines? It was impossible, it was obscene!

He went to her then. She'd come to talk things over, and found him lying there. When the others had arrived, she'd been holding his body, shaking it, telling him to wake up, please just wake up. He'd make sure she wouldn't get a censure for disturbing the scene.

"Eames--"

She looked at him. "I was going to forgive him! I was! I just--I didn't feel he deserved it just yet. I was going to! He looked so sad, but I walked away, I went out for a drink with my sister--"

At that, she collapsed again. The noise she made was less human and more like an animal being slaughtered. Rodgers came over and knelt down, putting an arm around Eames and speaking softly into her ear.

He'd worked so hard to get his shield back. Ross went to where his covered body lay and stared down at him._ I know how it is_, he thought. _You work hard to get the thing you think you want, and it turns out that it's not REALLY what you want after all. And then you realize the truth, but it's too damn late. And now it's too late for . . . anything._"Sometimes," he said to Bobby's body, "I effing hate this job."

________________________________________________

**Title**: "From Bad to Worse"

**Author**: Pterryfan

**Episode**: The War At Home

**Prompt**: "I think you broke it"

It had been a long week, for both of them. He was still in the "denial" stage about his mother, even though he knew he would never be able to afford any kind of proactive treatment on his own. "Back off" and "You do that" were behind them, but not far behind, he felt. There was something like a thin screen between them. The slightest wind could blow it away, or it could become permanent. It worried him. It frightened him.

But there were other cases, other pieces to make fit . . . A man whose wife was stubbornly protecting him--well, more protecting their daughter. At fifteen, though, he felt she could be useful in their investigation.

"Bobby, she's just not up to this kind of thing. You saw how frightened she was of us! Probably she's got a bad opinion of cops."

"Eames, _that's_ why she'd be an easier target for her parents. She won't know what to expect, she won't know which way we're coming from. You-you saw how they reacted to us, they, uh, they blocked our every attempt. It's got to be the daughter, she'll be putty in our hands."

"No see"--to him?--"If we lose the daughter, her mom's attitude toward us will move up from Defcon 1 to Defcon 4. Carter won't ever speak to us again because there won't _be _enough evidence."

"So, so you're taking the reins again."

An unflinching look. "This time, yes I am."

He was so used to displaying his anger for the bad guys that, just this once, he forgot there weren't any here. "Fine," he said, pouting, "I'll just have to--"

The Santa mug was on top of his papers, it had been his turn with it until Eames could find a bet she could win. When he grabbed them, it slid off his desk, spun on its rim, and fell.

Bobby was actually able to think _the bet what was the bet what was the bet _before he heard it shatter, the sound seeming to come from quite a way off. His partner's mug, his partner's father's gift.

_No. No. No no no no no no._ Head spinning, he looked at Eames. She had seen it fall, but did not look to where it had landed. She stared down at her desk, saying only, "I think you broke it."

He looked away from her, down at the mug, unable to glance back at her, unable for the life of him to remember what the bet had been.


End file.
